Disquiet, Please!

by David Remnick

  SALES ASSOCIATE: Unh-unh.

  JESUS: Ten?

  SALES ASSOCIATE: Please. Now you’re pissing on my parade. Five. Five! In one week! And that’s me. Now, take you. You’ve got the whole retro-fashion thing going for you—the sandal thing, the beard. Unusual for a man commanding six tons of steel, you follow? Keeps ’em guessing. And let me ask you this: Ever wondered what a Volkswagen Beetle sounds like as it’s crushed to scrap metal beneath your front axle?

  JESUS: Not really …

  SALES ASSOCIATE: Like angels on high, amigo. Angels rejoicing on high.

  2003

  PAUL RUDNICK

  INTELLIGENT DESIGN

  DAY NO. 1:

  And the Lord God said, “Let there be light,” and lo, there was light. But then the Lord God said, “Wait, what if I make it a sort of rosy, sun-set-at-the-beach, filtered half-light, so that everything else I design will look younger?”

  “I’m loving that,” said Buddha. “It’s new.”

  “You should design a restaurant,” added Allah.

  DAY NO. 2:

  “Today,” the Lord God said, “let’s do land.” And lo, there was land.

  “Well, it’s really not just land,” noted Vishnu. “You’ve got mountains and valleys and—is that lava?”

  “It’s not a single statement,” said the Lord God. “I want it to say, ‘Yes, this is land, but it’s not afraid to ooze.’ ”

  “It’s really a backdrop, a sort of blank canvas,” put in Apollo. “It’s, like, minimalism, only with scale.”

  “But—brown?” Buddha asked.

  “Brown with infinite variations,” said the Lord God. “Taupe, ochre, burnt umber—they’re called earth tones.”

  “I wasn’t criticizing,” said Buddha. “I was just noticing.”

  DAY NO. 3:

  “Just to make everyone happy,” said the Lord God, “today I’m thinking oceans, for contrast.”

  “It’s wet, it’s deep, yet it’s frothy; it’s design without dogma,” said Buddha, approvingly.

  “Now, there’s movement,” agreed Allah. “It’s not just ‘Hi, I’m a planet—no splashing.’ ”

  “But are those ice caps?” inquired Thor. “Is this a coherent vision, or a highball?”

  “I can do ice caps if I want to,” sniffed the Lord God.

  “It’s about a mood,” said the Angel Moroni, supportively.

  “Thank you,” said the Lord God.

  DAY NO. 4:

  “One word,” said the Lord God. “Landscaping. But I want it to look natural, as if it all somehow just happened.”

  “Do rain forests,” suggested a primitive tribal god, who was known only as a clicking noise.

  “Rain forests here,” decreed the Lord God. “And deserts there. For a spa feeling.”

  “Which is fresh, but let’s give it glow,” said Buddha. “Polished stones and bamboo, with a soothing trickle of something.”

  “I know where you’re going,” said the Lord God. “But why am I seeing scented candles and a signature body wash?”

  “Shut up,” said Buddha.

  “You shut up,” said the Lord God.

  “It’s all about the mix,” Allah declared in a calming voice. “Now let’s look at some swatches.”

  DAY NO. 5:

  “I’d like to design some creatures of the sea,” the Lord God said. “Sleek but not slick.”

  “Yes, yes, and more yes—it’s a total gills moment,” said Apollo. “But what if you added wings?”

  “Fussy,” whispered Buddha to Zeus. “Why not epaulets and a sash?”

  “Legs,” said Allah. “Now let’s do legs.”

  “Are we already doing dining-room tables?” asked the Lord God, confused.

  “No, design some creatures with legs,” said Allah. So the Lord God, nodding, designed an ostrich.

  “First draft,” everyone agreed, and so the Lord God designed an alligator.

  “There’s gonna be a waiting list,” Zeus murmured appreciatively.

  “Now do puppies!” pleaded Vishnu. “And kitties!”

  “Ooooo!” all the gods cooed. Then, feeling a bit embarrassed, Zeus ventured, “Design something more practical, like a horse or a mule.”

  “What about a koala?” asked the Lord God.

  “Much better,” Zeus declared, cuddling the furry little animal. “I’m going to call him Buttons.”

  DAY NO. 6:

  “Today I’m really going out there,” said the Lord God. “And I know it won’t be popular at first, and you’re all gonna be saying, ‘Earth to Lord God,’ but in a few million years it’s going to be timeless. I’m going to design a man.”

  And everyone looked upon the man that the Lord God designed.

  “It has your eyes,” Zeus told the Lord God.

  “Does it stack?” inquired Allah.

  “It has a naïve, folk-artsy, I-made-it-myself vibe,” said Buddha. The Inca sun god, however, only scoffed. “Been there. Evolution,” he said. “It’s called a shaved monkey.”

  “I like it,” protested Buddha. “But it can’t work a strapless dress.” Everyone agreed on this point, so the Lord God announced, “Well, what if I give it nice round breasts and lose the penis?”

  “Yes,” the gods said immediately.

  “Now it’s intelligent,” said Aphrodite.

  “But what if I made it blond?” giggled the Lord God.

  “And what if I made you a booming offscreen voice in a lot of bad movies?” asked Aphrodite.

  DAY NO. 7:

  “You know, I’m really feeling good about this whole intelligent-design deal,” said the Lord God. “But do you think that I could redo it, keeping the quality but making it at a price point we could all live with?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Buddha. “You mean, what if you designed a really basic, no-frills planet? Like, do the man and the woman really need all those toes?”

  “Hello!” said the Lord God. “Clean lines, no moving parts, functional but fun. Three bright, happy, wash ’n’ go colors.”

  “Swedish meets Japanese, with maybe a Platinum Collector’s Edition for the geeks,” Buddha decided.

  “Done,” said the Lord God. “Now let’s start thinking about Pluto. What if everything on Pluto was brushed aluminum?”

  “You mean, let’s do Neptune again?” said Buddha.

  2005

  CHRISTOPHER BUCKLEY

  JEEVES AND W.

  I WAS lying in bed after a rather depressing night, listening to the birds twitter in the trees, when Jeeves shimmered into the room.

  “What ho, Jeeves.”

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “What’s all this I hear about your heading up some Iraq Study Group? Have you been talking to my father again?”

  “Might I suggest the blue suit today? Something about this November suggests blue.”

  Sometimes Jeeves can be evasive, which is when I apply the old iron hand that we W.s are known for.

  “Now, see here, Jeeves, I can handle this Iraq business myself.”

  “Yes, sir. But, if I may, there does seem to be something of a clamor for an exit strategy.”

  “Dash it, Jeeves, the only exit strategy is victory.”

  “Yes, sir. So Dr. Kissinger keeps insisting. And yet, as the Bard would suggest, ripeness is all.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “King Lear, sir. A play by the late Mr. Shakespeare.”

  “Just spit it out.”

  “As you may recall, sir, I had suggested replacing Mr. Rumsfeld before the election, rather than after.”

  “Deuced good idea, Jeeves. See to it immediately. Walk him up the scaffold, and no blindfold. That’ll get us a few votes.”

  We W.s are slow to anger, but, when the feeling comes, the ground around us trembles.

  “If I may, sir?”

  “What is it, Jeeves?”

  “The election is over.”

  “Oh. Dash it all, Jeeves, you might have to
ld me.”

  “I believe there was some mention of it in the newspapers.”

  “Well, don’t be so mysterious. How’d we do? Another unqualified triumph?”

  “Not as satisfactorily as one might have hoped, sir. One might even be tempted to say that we took rather a thumping.”

  “Hmm. Wondered why there’ve been so many Democrats lurking about. Every time I look up from my desk, they’re tiptoeing about with tape measures. It’s deuced annoying, Jeeves. How’s a president supposed to concentrate?”

  “I have spoken with the Secret Service about it, sir. I have asked them to limit Democratic visitors to no more than two per day.”

  “That Pelosi woman. Sat there like a cobra. Froze my blood, Jeeves. Could hardly get up out of my chair.”

  “I keenly regret it, sir. I shall ask the Secret Service to be on the lookout especially for her. Meanwhile, perhaps if you appealed to her maternal side? I believe the lady is a mother of five and a grandmother. Perhaps a tasteful arrangement of seasonal flowers, accompanied by an appropriate sentiment? ‘Every hyacinth the garden wears / dropped in her lap from some once lovely head.’ ”

  “What are you going on about now?”

  “A poem, sir, by a Mr. Khayyam. A Persian person.”

  “Well, stop it. You’re making my head spin. And that Reid fellow who was with her—good Lord, he could give the Grim Reaper a run for his money. Where do the Democrats find these people, Jeeves? In a funeral parlor?”

  “I believe the gentleman is from the state of Nevada, sir. The ‘Battle Born’ state, as the state flag has it. Admitted to the Union during the Civil War.”

  “I tried to jolly him up by giving him one of my nicknames. You know how I like to crack the old ice by giving people nicknames.”

  “I am acquainted with your tendency toward the spontaneous assignment of the fraternal sobriquet. Might I inquire just what you called him?”

  “Cactus Butt.”

  “Doubtless a reference to the flora of his natal environs. And was the future Senate Majority Leader amused, sir, by your jeu d’esprit?”

  “He just stared at me. Deuced uncomfortable, let me tell you.”

  “Perhaps the gentleman is not inclined to persiflage. But, if I may, sir, with respect to Iraq?”

  “All right, then. Give it to me straight up.”

  “Might I suggest, sir, a regional conference?”

  “Dash it, Jeeves, we’re at war. You can’t go conferencing with bullets flying all over the place.”

  “Indeed, sir. And yet if we were to invite, say, Iran and Syria and some of the other affected countries to sit down for what is, I believe, referred to as ‘networking,’ it might take some of the pressure off yourself?”

  “You mean the sort of how-d’ye-do where everyone sits at one of those huge U-shaped tables and makes endless orations all day?”

  “That would be the general notion, yes, sir.”

  “Now, steady on, Jeeves. You know I hate those things. You sit there with an earphone, listening to interpreters jibber-jabber about how it’s all your fault. I’d rather take my chances playing Blinky with Cobra Woman and Cactus Butt.”

  “You wouldn’t actually have to attend personally, sir. Indeed, I could represent you, if that would be agreeable.”

  “I say, would you, Jeeves?”

  “Certainly, sir. Indeed, sir, it is my impression that you have been working much too hard as it is. Might I suggest that you winter at the ranch in Crawford? I believe the climate there this time of year is thought to be salubrious.”

  “But what if the vice-president wants to come down and go quail-hunting?”

  “I have taken the liberty of speaking with the Secret Service, sir, and have asked that they replace Mr. Cheney’s shotgun cartridges with blanks.”

  “Jeeves, you’re a genius. Pack my things. We leave immediately.”

  “Thank you, sir. I endeavor to give satisfaction.”

  2006

  EXPLANATIONS AND ADVISORIES

  ROBERT BENCHLEY

  SO YOU’RE GOING TO NEW YORK

  TO the traveler who is returning to New York after a summer in Europe, full of continental ways and accustomed to taking in with an appraising eye such points of interest as have been called to his attention by the little books he bought at Brentano’s, perhaps a few words will not be amiss to refresh his memory about his homeland. One forgets so easily.

  We approach New York by the beautiful North River, so-called because it is on the west of the island, the scene of many naval battles during the Civil War and referred to by Napoleon as “le robinet qui ne marche pas” (“the faucet which does not work”). All true Americans, on sailing up the harbor, will naturally feel a thrill of pride as the tall towers (incorrectly called “the tall towers of Ilium”) raise their shaggy heads through the mists, and will naturally remark to one another: “Well, after all, there isn’t anything like Little Old New York.” These will be the last kind words they speak of New York until they are abroad again next year.

  (We are purposely omitting any satirical reference to the Statue of Liberty and Prohibition, but there will be any number of amateur satirists on board who will make them for you in case you feel the need of them. The editors of this work believe, with Beaumarchais, that “obedience to law is liberty” and, so long as Prohibition is a law of this country, will do or say nothing to discredit it. It is, however, fairly safe to slip a couple of small bottles of Napoleon brandy into the pockets of your overcoat if you carry it over your arm.)

  The word for douanier is customs-house officer, and you will find that the American customs are much less exacting than those of foreign countries, owing to the supremacy of American industries and their manufacturing efficiency which makes it possible for them to make better goods at lower prices than those of Europe. The only articles which one is not allowed to bring into America in any quantity are:

  Wearing apparel, jewelry, silks, laces, cottons (woven or in the bale), living equipment, books, gifts, raw hides, marble slabs, toothpaste, sugar cane, music (sheet or hummed), garters (except black with a narrow white band), sun-burn acquired abroad, moustaches grown abroad (unless for personal use), cellulose, iron pyrites, medicine (unless poison), threshing-machines, saliva, over four lungfuls of salt air, and any other items that you might possibly want to bring in.

  The customs thus disposed of, we take a cab and tell the driver to drive slowly to our hotel. This will be difficult at first, owing to the hold which the French or German language has got on us. We may not have noticed while we were abroad (and certainly the foreigners never noticed it) how like second-nature it comes to speak French or German, but, on landing in America, we shall constantly be finding ourselves (especially in the presence of friends who have been at home all summer) calling waiters “Garçon” or saying to drivers: “Nicht so schnell, bitte!” This will naturally cause us a little embarrassment which we will explain away by saying that we really have got so used to it that it is going to take us a couple of days to get the hang of English. Some way should be found to make Americans as glib in foreign languages while they are abroad as they are when they get back to New York. Then there will be no more wars.

  AMERICAN money will cause us quite a lot of trouble, too, especially those new bank-notes. Compiling statistics ahead of time, we may say that roughly one million returning Americans will remark to friends, during the month of September: “Say, I thought I had a ten-shilling note here,” or “I’ll be giving one of these dollars for ten francs the first thing I know.” The fact that they are not the same size at all will not enter into it. Sharp-tempered people who have been in New York throughout the torrid season may have to take the matter into their own hands and shoot a great many returned travelers.

  The new money will, however, present quite a problem, owing to the tendency of those who have been accustomed to wadding five- and ten-franc notes (to keep them from falling apart) leaving dollar bills similarly wadded around i
n peignoir pockets or tossing them off as tips. New York waiters, during the month of September, will probably reap a harvest of wadded dollar bills. Or maybe, when it is a matter of a loss of seventy-five cents, the travelers will catch themselves just in time and remember that they are back in America.

  Now that we are safe and sound at our hotel, or home, or favorite speakeasy, we have the whole of marvelous New York before us. New York was founded by the Dutch in the seventeenth century (the editors will not give you the exact date because by looking it up for yourself you will remember it better) and is a veritable gold-mine of historic associations. We must divide our days up wisely, in order to get the most out of our stay here, and to renew old friendships and revisit familiar scenes. We shall also spend a few days looking over old bills which we neglected to pay before sailing.

  The old friendships will not be so difficult to renew. The first old friend we meet will say: “Hi!” cheerily and pass on. The second will say: “Not so hot as it was last week, is it?” and the third will say: “When are you going to take your vacation?” This will get us back into the swing again, and we can devote the rest of our time to studying points of interest. Most of these will either have been torn down or closed.

  There is an alternate, or Trip B, from Europe to New York. If we follow this, we stay right on the boat and go back to Cherbourg.

  1929

  PETER DE VRIES

  A HARD DAY AT THE OFFICE

  I RECENTLY worked in an office where they had a number of those signs reading “Think,” the motto of the International Business Machines Corporation, which so many other business firms seem to be adopting. The signs became almost at once a bone of contention between my employer and me, though not because I was not responsive to them; I have always reacted unqualifiedly to wall injunctions, especially the monosyllabic kind. Confronted, for example, with the exhortation “Smile,” my face becomes wreathed in an expression of felicity that some people find unendurable. The “Think” signs, one of which was visible from my desk, so I saw it every time I raised my head, were equally effective. As a consequence, by midmorning of my first day on the job I was so immersed in rumination that the boss, a ruddy, heavyset fellow named Harry Bagley, paused on his way past my desk, evidently struck by a remote and glazed look in my eye.